Author's Note: I think these are getting shorter. Oh well, that's why I called them 'drabbles'. I own nothing.
When Rosie was three years old her favorite word was 'why'. Throughout the day John and Sherlock heard this word from Rosie's mouth frequently.
"What doing?" She said, toddling up to John when he was perusing the newspaper one evening. She was staring at John curiously, on little hand fiddling with the hem of her dress.
John smiled at his daughter and picked her up, settling her in his lap. "Reading the paper." He said.
"Why?" Rosie asked.
"To see the news." It was best to use sparse language with a three-year-old, something Sherlock refused to do.
Blue eyes focused on John, she asked again, "Why?"
"Uh, just for something to do, love." John said, cupping Rosie's cheek. "How about you go play with the new doll Mrs. Hudson got you?"
Rosie leaned back against John's chest. "Why?"
John sighed, half-amused, half-exasperated. "Don't you like your new doll? Mrs. Hudson will be so pleased to see you playing with it."
"Why?"
"She loves you, Rose."
"Why?"
"You're lovable."
"Why?"
"Because—"
"It's impossible to have an intelligent conversation with someone whose vocabulary comprises five words." Sherlock interrupted from the door. He smirked at John as he unwrapped his scarf and pulled off his coat.
"Sh'lock!" Rosie squealed, sliding off John's lap and throwing her arms around Sherlock's legs.
Sherlock picked her up with a familiar ease, kissing her head almost absentmindedly.
"Considering one of those five words that she knows is 'murder', I have proof that you engage in conversation with her as often as I do. It's important to answer their questions, Sherlock, no matter how monosyllabic."
Sherlock wasn't paying attention, he was listening to Rosie as she talked in broken sentences about her day.